Monthly Archives: September 2015

Depression Lies, Especially in September

This month they call September is fucking brutal. It’s Suicide Prevention Awareness Month, and that is so ironic to me that I can’t even stand it. September sneaks up on me. The memories sneak up on me. The pain comes at me and I feel trapped. Stuck in this mind that won’t forget, that won’t cooperate, that won’t just let me be.

So, I enjoyed the fleeting success that came with a recent post, and it really was lovely. But my anxiety was telling me that I did not deserve the compliments, the comments, the shares, the likes. My depression was telling me that I tricked everyone because I am a terrible mom. My anxiety was telling me that I needed to respond to every single sweet and wonderful person who reached out to me, but my depression was keeping me from all but the most necessary tasks.

I had an emergency session with my psychiatrist on Monday and I am feeling a little better. Talking to her made me remember that there is hope. I will not always feel like this. Yes, I will feel like this again, but when I do, I will wait this bitch out and I will laugh again and love again and still be here when the motherfucker comes back again.

I don’t know if you have heard of Project Semicolon, but I got myself a new tattoo to celebrate making it through the weekend.

My story isn't over.

My story isn’t over.

The following is part of a post I wrote shortly after Robin Williams passed, right before another September.

….I am not alone.

Out there, somewhere, is someone struggling as hard as I am struggling. Out there, somewhere, someone is giving up and someone is still fighting. Someone is feeling just as hopeless and empty as I feel. Someone is putting one foot in front of the other even though it hurts. Someone is hiding under the covers. Someone is crying. Someone is dying.

I understand.

I know the feeling and it is not just one of giving up, giving in, letting go of the pain. Depression is insidious and it lies. It will tell you that your family, your friends, everyone would be better off without you. That you are a useless weight around their necks and that ending your life would be a gift to them.

When you write it out like that it seems so stark, so cold, so untrue. But these are the thoughts that swirl when my head is buried under the pillow. These are the thoughts that I share with others who fight this monster every single day.

If you are reading this, I promise that I will keep putting one foot in front of the other. I promise that I will not listen to the lies, I will wait them out, I will drown them out, and I will keep going.

Come with me?

Here is a link to NAMI: National Alliance on Mental Illness, with numbers you can call if you are in crisis, and a lot of information regarding mental illness.


It’s Slug Season! Yes, that’s a thing.

Slug Season is a thing.

This is not a slug. This is a snake looking in my window. But if you think I’m going hunting for pictures of slugs, you don’t know me very well.

In honor of Slug Season (that’s a thing. A thing I just made up), I decided to revamp this post from a million years ago.

We have a large wooden deck on the back of our house. We also have a drainage problem. And a slug problem. I’m not positive these things are all related, because I’m not a fucking scientist, but I suspect they are.

A few days ago I went out and saw a big fat gross slug on the deck.

Me: Ewww! Did you see that thing?

Husband: No, what?

Me: THE GIANT SLUG RIGHT THERE!

Him: Shit, is that why my shoe is so sticky?

Me:..

Him: *He heads back inside*

Me: Watch ou—

Him: SHIT!

Yes, the big idiot stepped on it again. Then presumably tracked slime all over the house, I don’t know.

So this story is about four years old, right after we moved into this house.

I woke up early and first thing let the dogs out. I’m lazy, so instead of turning on a light or possibly paying attention to what I was doing, I just stuck my hand out in the dark to get the water bowl.

I didn’t look at it until I realized that my hand felt….slimy. My only defense is that I hadn’t had coffee yet. And that I am an idiot.

There. Were. Baby. Slugs. On. Me. MANY TINY SLUGS TOUCHING ME. TOUCHING ME!

This was when everything started to get a little blurry.

The dish was no longer in the house, so I can only assume I threw it.

My robe was in the hall floor.  I vaguely remember ripping it off and sprinting into the kitchen while my ever-so-helpful husband just stared.

He says he thinks I was gagging.  I really couldn’t say.

I do know that while I was in the kitchen scrubbing vigorously at my gooey hands (OMG, I might barf and this was like 4 years ago) he widened his stupid eyes and pointed at my back.

I very rapidly became naked and then equally rapidly became violent, once I realized he was a lying shit.

After I felt relatively clean, I calmed down to a state of shock, just staring blankly and mourning my lost innocence.

Him: *trying not to laugh, but not trying very fucking hard*

Me:.

Husband: *snicker snort* So. What are you doing to do with your robe? *innocent face*

Me:.

Him: You just going to leave your shit laying there in the floor so all those slugs can just wander off all over the house?”

Me: *glares the glare of a thousand deaths*

Husband: *does not die or even be mildly injured*

He was clearly not concerned about my safety, sanity, or aversion to animated slime.

Me: Obviously the only logical thing to do is burn the robe.

Him: I KNEW you would say that. It’s not a fucking vampire, Stephanie.  You don’t have to cut its head off, burn it, and bury it wrapped in chains.

Hmmph.  I guess it’s just as well I didn’t tell him my whole  plan, which was to burn the robe and then the front porch.

This is war, motherfucker.  My perimeter has been breached. 


Facebook is All Up in My Business. Literally.

I’ve been sick the past few days, first with a migraine, then a serious allergic reaction which then caused another migraine. So I’ve just been a mess. I haven’t washed my hair or changed my clothes…I’m pretty fucking gross right now. But I have managed to brush my teeth at least once a day, so I feel like that’s a win for everyone.

Anyway. Before, during, and after a migraine I am always very slow thinking and confused. During an allergic reaction my blood pressure drops so I’m stupid then too.

So yesterday I sent a Facebook message to my friend Tara, but then I took a nap. When I woke up I was already out of my mind because I was getting a migraine AND I was super tired. I HAD JUST WOKEN UP, PEOPLE.

Sometimes getting in the bathtub helps my migraines. So I had napped…um…not clothed.

I woke up and saw that I had a Facebook message. I took my phone into the bathroom like people do and tried to read my message. Naked. While peeing.

SOMEHOW, instead of just showing me a message, I heard a strange ringing sound…not like a phone call…but kind of like a phone call. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know if I had called someone, and if I had, then I had no idea who it might be. Suddenly I had this horrible thought that I might have just started a video chat.

I panicked. I admit it. I was NAKED, CONFUSED, and SITTING ON THE TOILET. So I threw my phone across the room. I cannot think of a single Facebook friend who I would want to see me naked, taking a piss, and barely coherent.

As I finished the details of urination, I heard a VOICE from my phone saying, “Hello? Hello?”

Now, the phone was facedown on the floor, but it has the back camera. And I still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. I was still sure that I was not wearing clothes. Was someone looking through that little camera? Were they getting an upward view of my stuff?

I  was losing my shit for real, you guys. Losing it. I reached my arm as far away from me as I could, grabbed the phone, and ran back into my bedroom. I wasn’t thinking straight. Did I mention that I was still naked? I did what I assume any normal naked adult would do, which was shove the phone under some blankets and make a run for it.

After I found some clothes and tried to shake the cobwebs out of my brain (didn’t work), I delicately pulled the phone out and looked at it. It seemed okay. No voices were coming out of it.

I checked my messages and I had one from Tara asking if I was okay.

I answered back with, “Oh my fuck, did I just CALL you?”

She was like, “No, idiot.” So I told her what had happened and that I was scared to even touch my phone, and that I’d get on my laptop and chat.

Then, when I opened up messenger on my computer (phone safely shoved under a pillow) this is what I saw:

What. The. Fuck.

What. The. Fuck.

Obviously, I assumed this was her response to my accidental nude toilet video chat with who knows.

But. Tara says, “Wtf is that? I’ve never seen this in my life.”

I didn’t do it, she didn’t do it, Facebook was watching me pee, it was just too much. We agreed to put tape over all our cameras, hide our phones when we pee and/or are naked, and wear foil hats just in case.

THEN I get this message from my friend Michelle: “Hey gorgeous! Were you trying to get in touch with me?”

I told her the whole debacle and said, “I’m sorry if you saw me peeing.”

She laughed. And laughed. And laughed. And then finally told me that she DID NOT see me on the toilet. Whew.

She informed me that her phone had made a weird-ass noise and said it was me, voice messaging, so she did the obvious and answered it. Thankfully, she said the cameras were off. But that’s kind of an awkward situation, so maybe she was just trying to be nice instead of saying MY GOD you need to do some fucking landscaping and maybe stop eating so many poptarts!

Facebook was scaring me, but I was very thankful that nobody had to see me naked.

Then Michelle starts fucking with me, and I hear my phone making that weird ringing noise again and I almost run away from home and phones, and then my screen says Video Call so I just stared at it and nothing happened, although I DID have clothes on this time so I guess it would’ve been ok.

She’s all, “I wasn’t messing with you, I just wanted to see what would happen.”

WELL, MICHELLE, NOW YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS. I AM TRAUMATIZED FOR LIFE.

Michelle: We’re like cavemen seeing fire for the first time. AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH RUN AWAY!

Me: What happens if I do this….*jumps back and screams*

She had to go do grownup things like go car shopping with her husband without stabbing him. So she told me bye and to try not to show my twat to strangers.

I told her I could probably do that, but I didn’t think she could. (The car thing, not the twat thing.)

Then she had the bright idea that maybe she should do the twat thing while negotiating. “They might give us a discount if I just put it away for godsake.”

Me: If they aren’t giving you a good deal, just flash your vag. Do it.

Michelle: I will.

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